


Into The Woods

by Grundy



Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Finarfinions, First Age, Gen, Protective Siblings, SWG Challenge: New Year's Resolution, SWG Challenge: Strength & Beauty
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-02-03
Updated: 2018-10-25
Packaged: 2019-03-13 03:11:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 8,119
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13561512
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Grundy/pseuds/Grundy
Summary: Angrod, Aegnor, and Artanis have been sent to make contact with their great uncle Elwë. None of them really know what to expect - and Artanis really doesn't want to be there.





	1. Chapter 1

Angarato glanced over his shoulder.

Aikanaro smirked slightly, as if to ask ‘what did you expect?’ Angarato glared at his younger brother, but got a wide-eyed look in return that made it clear this problem was all his.

Artanis was still sulking.

She’d been in a foul mood ever since they left Mithrim. She had no desire to accompany him and Aikanaro on their journey to their great-uncle’s lands, and even less to be away from her oldest brother, Irissë, and Ambarussa.

Even now, almost to the borders of Elwë’s kingdom, she was not happy – despite being surrounded by so much novelty. They have not seen trees, birds, or flowers like these before. It would be more like Artë to take interest.

Ordinarily, Angarato would have waited her mood out, and hoped that Ingo would jolly her out of it. But Ingo wasn’t here, and honestly, he didn’t really expect Ingo would be able to do much with this. Not when it was his fault.

Artanis was _not_ happy about what she’d interpreted as exile from the rest of the Noldor.

Angarato sighed, and nodded at Aiko to take the lead – and to keep an eye on Artaresto. If nothing else, his sister should be mollified that she wasn’t the only one being sent somewhere safer.

_I hardly think classing her with her barely of age nephew will improve matters_ , Aiko warned.

Angarato suppressed a snort as he dropped back to walk with Artanis.

She pretended to ignore him for several minutes before sighing and leaning into him. Whether she cared to admit it or not, keeping up her outrage this long was tiring. And it wasn’t as if Ingo was the only one she was angry with.

Angarato hugged her, and kept a companionable arm around her shoulders.

_This is not a punishment, you know_ , he told her.

He chose to keep to osanwë rather than verbal speech because he was not sure if they were being observed by the Sindar yet – he expected they would be at some point, and he wanted to present a united and above all, peaceful front.

Not to mention, he didn’t think it was the best idea to make the handful of retainers with them – equal parts security and bringing the numbers of their group to a level that would have been considered an acceptable retinue for a royal diplomat – privy to the fault lines that still ran through the House of Finwë.

He focused on Artanis and caught a cloud of simmering anger, unhappiness, hurt, and…

_Ingo would have come himself if he could,_ he said soothingly.

He’d often envied Ingo and Artë’s closeness, but if anything, it seemed to be working against their eldest brother this time.  She’d have gotten over it quicker if had been him who had insisted she join the delegation to Doriath.

_He’s hoping to keep you safely away from Turkafinwë,_ Angarato added, perfectly willing to offer his cousin up as the scapegoat. It wouldn’t much matter if Artë blamed him for this, given how furious she still was with him for Alqualondë.

Come to it, Angarato was pretty furious with Turkafinwë about Alqualondë too. The only reason he was playing along with keeping Artanis away from him was that he didn’t want his little sister doing any more kinslaying.

_I could stay away from him just fine where I was,_ Artë sniffed. _You all might have noticed I have neither sought him out nor killed him._

_Yet_ , Angarato couldn’t resist pointing out. _We’ve all been wondering how long your self-restraint would hold._

_Then you are being ridiculous_ , Artë shot back. _Anyway, I would not kill him with Curvo around. For some reason he actually likes the great lummox._

_I still don’t see why coming on this expedition bothers you so much,_ Angarato said reasonably. _You haven’t done anything like this before. You might actually_ like _grandfather’s brother and his wife. And Elwë has a daughter…_

He trailed off.

Angarato had no good idea what to expect of his mother’s cousin. He knew she was the daughter of a maia, the only such being any Noldo had ever heard of. As Elwë’s child, she must be at least somewhat like other elves. But she must be somewhat like the maiar as well, and he had no idea what that would look like in person. He wasn’t even sure if she was their age, their parents’ age, or perhaps older still.

He hoped Artë would be curious.

_I would rather have stayed with Irissë,_ Artanis grumbled. _A cousin who has known nothing of me all my life needs me rather less than the cousin who has known me since before either of us saw the light!_

Angarato winced. This was the opposite of helping.

_If you will not hear that you might find it interesting, at least believe that your presence will be helpful,_ he said, trying a different tack. _If the situation were reversed, if they abruptly appeared on the shores of Araman, what would we think if they sent only neri?_

_We probably would have thought that they were properly cautious if we thought about it at all,_ Artanis said drily. _For all the talk of what little difference there is between neri and nissi, we certainly don’t act as if we believe it. Or is it only_ princesses _who must be decorative and useless?_

Angarato gaped at her.

_Decorative I might grant you, you’re certainly prettier than Aiko or I,_ he said finally. _But I have no idea how you conclude yourself to be useless here._

Artanis looked thoroughly skeptical.

_Really? What vital tasks required me here? I was_ useful _in Mithrim. There was no reason to send me along for this. There’s nothing I can do here except stand around looking pretty._

Angarato sighed.

He knew half the reason Artanis had been so ready to leave Tirion had been her utter frustration with the future ordained for her as a princess of the Noldor – marriage, attending social functions, and perhaps becoming patron of some royal society or another. The youngest grandchild of Finwë had been much sought after by the noblest young men of the Noldor for her beauty. But she had wanted more.

_Do not judge too quickly,_ he chided. _You, Artanis Nerwen, are clever enough to find more to do on a diplomatic mission such as this than merely ‘look pretty’._

If anyone had ever thought that was all his sister was capable of, the Helcaraxë should have disabused them of that notion. It had been her strength that carried her and so many others through that pitiless trek over the Ice – strength, and courage, and determination to do whatever was necessary to take care of her people.

He, for one, would never look at her again without seeing that strength. It was as if they had all thought her some hothouse flower, but had discovered that the same flower could still bloom in the fierceness of Araman and the cold of the uttermost north.

_Assuming,_ Angarato continued, _I do not find something else for you to do once I know more of what we’re doing besides ‘find our great-uncle and speak with him’, at the very least I will need you to help me learn about him and his people. You realize we know nothing more than his name, his wife’s name, his daughter’s name, and roughly where to look for him?_

_You only just realized this now?_ Artanis asked drily.

_No, but I was hoping you’d start thinking about that instead of how irritated you are with every single brother and cousin you have not named Irissë or Ambarussa._

_I am also not irritated with Curvo,_ she conceded. There was a pause. _Not very irritated with Curvo._

_Does Uncle Nolo also come in for his share of irritation?_ Angarato asked warily.

_Why? Was he also privy to this decision?_ Artanis demanded.

Angarato paused, then decided that as his uncle was at a safe distance…

_It was his idea,_ he admitted. _He probably would have sent Irissë had he not worried how Elwë might react to being approached by outsiders who are not close kin._

Another voice piped in.

_Also, there was some concern about how long Elwë’s kingdom would stand with the two of you within his borders without parental supervision._

Both of them glared at Aikanaro, who grinned.

_Sorry. I’m pretty much covering Resto’s ears here, but I couldn’t help myself. But really, no one in their right mind would send you and Irissë together on a diplomatic mission. Except maybe to Angband. Small wonder Finno thought he’d better go after Maitimo before either of you took it into your head._

Angarato was all set to tear into his idiot brother, until he realized that Artanis was actually smiling.

_Why? You doubt we would have succeeded?_ she asked.

_No, you’d have brought him back. And he’d probably still have two hands. You’d have levelled Thangorodrim instead of cutting the hand off._

Angarato suppressed a snicker, because he could almost see that happening. The two of them would be standing there arguing about how to free him, Maitimo would suggest cutting the hand off at the wrist, both girls would dismiss it as a ridiculous idea, and at some point Artë would come to the perfectly logical conclusion that the only alternative was to level the mountain.  The only question was how surprised Morgoth would be when his mountain collapsed on top of him.

_Besides,_ I’m _glad to have you on this trip. I need an ally,_ Aiko continued blithely. _Otherwise being the oldest might go to Ango’s head._

_The two of you spend time together all the time,_ Artë pointed out in amusement.

_Not with him in charge!_ Aiko retorted.

_You are both silly,_ she told him, fondness rippling through her words.

_Yes, we are, but you’re smiling now._


	2. Long Sundered Kin

Angarato found himself growing uneasy.

He was the one in charge of this expedition, which meant if it turned out badly, it was on his head. Though really, at the moment, any consequences to himself were entirely secondary to his concern for the well-being of his son, his baby sister, and his little brother.

They had waited until mid-coirë to set out for Doriath, late enough that dangerous winter weather should not have troubled them. (Artanis had spent yesterday’s journey cataloging flowers and plants new to her.) Yet against all expectation, there was a distinct bite in the air. The chill wind blowing from the north carried with it the smell of snow.

He was not one of those who ascribed every mishap or chance against them to Morgoth, but that wind gave him pause. And he was no more eager to face a reminder of the Ice than any who followed him. They have all had enough of cold, enough to last a lifetime.

“How far, do you think?” he murmured quietly to Artë.

They were well beyond the territory they knew well, following the path they have been told will lead them to where Thingol’s people will meet them to guide them to Doriath. But they don’t know where to expect their guides to join them, so he has increasingly relied on his sister’s sense of where the border of Doriath lay.

She had been able to sense it before any of them, and had seemed surprised that they could not. To her, it was obvious. Angarato could feel it dimly now, but he trusted Artanis’ senses more than his own in this.

“Another two days?” she offered.

 _I cannot be certain,_ she added silently. _I have never been there before, so I only guess based on what I remember of Uinen’s power. But Uinen might not be the best comparison. Or I may be guessing wrong about where the actual border is, and so not estimate correctly._

 _I will take your best guess over no idea at all, little sister_ , Angarato told her gratefully. _But two days is too far. I fear we will be caught by a blizzard long before that._

“We had best hope our promised guides find us first,” she said wryly. “I know how to survive on the Ice, not in this.”

 _You think it’s so different?_ Aikanaro asked idly.

 _I think there were not huge trees on the Ice that could drop branches on our heads,_ Angarato pointed out grimly, for he agreed with their sister.

 _Also, there were neither wolves nor orcs,_ Artanis added cheerfully. _We’d have eaten better if there had been._

“Pick up the pace,” Angarato ordered briskly, choosing to ignore her implication that she’d have eaten not only wolf but orc had it been an option.

He knew perfectly well that to her it was a statement of fact, but it was hard for her older brother not to take it as a reproach. If he or Finderato had had the least bit of sense back in Araman, they’d have insisted she return with their father, and he’d have sent Artaresto back to Lotë as well.  

Having failed then, he _would_ do better now. His little sister and his son would not know such cold or hunger ever again.

“I would prefer to make it as far as we can before the weather closes in,” Angarato continued. “Our Iathrim kin may know some better way to deal with the weather, but in the event there is nothing for it but to tough it out, the closer we are to their borders, the better.”

‘Before the weather closes in’ proved to be not nearly as long as he might have hoped.

At first it was just a few flakes, but the wind swiftly turned brutal and the snow came down harder. All too soon, he faced the dilemma of what to do – seek shelter, or press on. He could already hear the ominous creaking of trees bearing more weight than they could comfortably hold, so the idea of sheltering beneath them did not reassure.

He also could feel a prickling at the edge of his senses he did not like.

 _Artë? Aiko?_ he prompted.

 _I don’t think they’re orcs,_ Aikanaro replied cautiously.

 _No, there are orcs, they’re just further away. There are elves closer,_ Artanis said decisively. _Our kin are nearly upon us, and pressing on just as we are. They are probably concerned that we will lose our way or miss each other in the storm._

It was not at all how he’d hoped this all-important first meeting would go, but better than the alternative at this point.

“Be on the alert,” he instructed their guards. “We expect our sundered kin imminently. Do _not_ make any move against them, but at the same time, be vigilant -  the possibility remains of an orc or wolf attack using this weather as cover.”

His captain Airesaron nodded crisply, before commanding the rest of the guard to order themselves as though at a royal review. They wouldn’t be able to move like that in this weather for long, but hopefully it would be long enough not to appear to be caught unawares by Thingol’s people.

Soon enough, the Iathrim appeared. The group was small, two men and two women. The presence of the women surprised him.

 _Why should it?_ Artë asked sharply.

 _We would not include women in such a delegation,_ he pointed out.

_We would if we wanted to show good will. After all, what better way to show no harm intended than to have someone pretty and useless along?_

He winced at the acid in her tone, but he couldn’t argue the point. In any case, the Iathrim having women with them was to the good, for it would be somewhat inappropriate to have his younger sister surrounded by only men.

_I am older than your son, thank you very much, and quite capable of determining for myself what is inappropriate. I will take my chances with the Iathrim. Also, at least one of those women is not merely decorative if the knives at her belt are any indication._

_We can speak of this later, Artanis,_ he told her firmly, though he too noted the older woman’s knives. _Let me handle this meeting first, and then you can complain all you like about social niceties and useless conventions._

He stepped forward, unsure which of the silver-haired neri before him was the leader. The pair looked alike enough to be brothers, and the younger girl bore a strong resemblance to them. The older woman had darker hair, though not the same dark of the Noldor, more that of a ripe chestnut, and did not seem to be related – or not closely related, if she was.

“Hail, people of Elwë, our sundered kin,” he began.

He was vaguely aware that Artanis was trying not to snicker, but he had no idea what she was finding funny about the situation. He was definite that the taller of the silver-haired Iathrim was staring at her, and sure that would not go well.

It was not until his opposite, who appeared to be the younger of the two, spoke that Artaresto understood what Artanis was finding so funny.

Their languages had been sundered just as long as their peoples – and considering Vanyarin and Noldorin had diverged since reaching Aman, it should not have been a surprise to discover that the Lindarin of Beleriand and the Lindarin of Aman were no longer mutually intelligible.

 _Shush!_ he groused at both of his siblings, as Aiko joined in the mirth.

 _Come on, you have to admit it’s a little funny_ , Aiko replied unrepentantly. _You had such a nice speech prepared, and they can’t understand a word of it. They probably had a lovely speech to give in return._

 _It’s just as well,_ Artanis sniffed. _It’s snowing too hard for speechifying and diplomacy. Get on with figuring out how to talk to them so we can all get on with finding a better place to shelter. I don’t know what_ they _have in mind, but they’re all feeling far too much urgency for sitting around here to be the plan._

_Atto? Is it polite to say hello to the girl my age?_

Artaresto’s contribution was the last straw.

_Get out of my head, all of you. I need to concentrate!_

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a look on Artanis’ face directed toward the staring ner that boded no good for him if he didn’t find something better to look at quite soon. Fortunately, the young girl said something to him and he looked away with a scowl.

Angarato and the Iathrim leader were not making much progress, which made it all the more annoying when he saw that Artanis had stepped forward to speak to the girl.

 _Artë,_ he began warningly.

 _Ango, this is not about girlish chit-chat, so kindly stop interfering,_ she shot back. _You boys are complicating things needlessly._

Artanis pointed to herself, and then said her own name clearly and firmly.

The younger girl copied her gesture, but substituted ‘Merilin’ for ‘Artanis’.

Angarato and his opposite traded exasperated looks of ‘why didn’t we think of that?’ They both knew they were never going to hear the end of it from the girls.

“Angarato,” he murmured with a quick gesture.

“Oropher,” the other man replied wryly.

Artanis was now extending an ungloved hand toward Merilin, and Angarato realized what she intended. Even if he’d had a sensible objection, it was already too late. So he turned his attention back to Oropher and pointed out his brother, his son, and his sister in turn.

Oropher nodded, and named the others in his group Celeborn and Araseth.

That was when Artanis pulled him around by his arm to face her. His irritation vanished at her explanation.

“Merilin has told me that they have been in haste to find us,” she told him, speaking aloud no doubt for the benefit of the Iathrim. “Her people expect the snow to worsen, and last for some hours. This is not a good place to be, and we are too far from the border to reach it safely in such weather. They will lead us to a more sheltered place to wait it out. All else can wait!”

He nodded and looked to Oropher, who had been having what was no doubt a similar conversation with his own little sister.

The only surprise was that it was not Oropher, but Celeborn who appeared to be in charge, for it was he who gave what could only be the order to move forward.

Angarato stepped forward to walk with Celeborn, conscious that he had perhaps slighted the other man by addressing his younger brother, but received a shrug and the impression that Oropher was the better speaker and had been instructed to put himself forward for that reason.

He shot a glance behind him to find that Artanis and Merilin were walking together. They might not be speaking aloud, but he did not doubt that they were chattering away silently.

He silently thanked the stars that Ingo had decided Artë would be sent along with him over her objections. Without her presence, this meeting might easily have gone far worse.


	3. Brave New World

Artanis surveyed their newly appeared kin with a critical eye.

Their clothing was different, of course. After what she’d seen since the Ice, she’d expected that. Beleriand was not Alqualondë, or even the coast between her grandfather’s city and Araman. It followed that with different needs, what the Lindar of Beleriand wore would not be the garb of the Lindar of Aman.

The colors the Iathrim favored were subdued – muted greens, browns, greys, and off whites. While it stood out slightly against the snow, they would otherwise blend in with the background far more easily than the blues, bright greens, and true whites on her, her brothers, and her nephew.

The Iathrim also wore no jewelry that she could see. By comparison, even the lone ring she wore, a sapphire set against a simple gold star studded with crystal that Curvo had made as a gift to mark her coming of age, felt showy by comparison. (Ingo had complained it was the wrong color, that it should have been an emerald for their house, but Curvo had shrugged and said he thought she’d prefer the sapphire to remind her of the sea. He’d been right, and she treasured the ring it all the more for it now.)

The two males at the front were tall, silver haired, and unless she missed her guess, princes of Doriath. Her grandmother had once mentioned Olwë’s brothers having the same silver hair as he did, so it was no great leap to expect that silver heads would be as common among Elwë’s close kin as they were among Olwë’s. They would not have looked out of place next to her uncles.

She knew that there were others, unseen but still present, and could feel that they took their cue from the taller of the two. He was the leader, then, though it was the younger ner who had stepped forward to speak to her brother.

But until she knew more about their abilities, it was best not to reveal her own. She would have to wait to tell Ango.

 _I see you’ve made an impression_ , Aiko said mischievously.

She glanced from her appraisal of the two women - the dark haired one she judged to be about her own age, the one with silver hair more Artaresto’s - to find the silent leader openly staring at her.

 _He hasn’t been able to look away,_ Aiko grinned. _Not that I entirely blame him if what we’ve heard about Vanyarin hair being unheard of here is true. I’d say you’ve added yet another admirer to your collection._

She glared at her brother.

 _Which just goes to show that neri are the same on both sides of the sea,_ she sniffed. _Also, I note that none of you seem to be making much progress. We’ll be here until we’re snowed into place at this rate._

The younger woman said something to Stare, and he averted his eyes. A lesser ner might have blushed, but he simply turned his attention to Artaresto as though he had done nothing out of the ordinary and it was perfectly normal and socially acceptable to openly ogle a nis.

Her brother’s laughter echoed in her mind.

 _Poor sod_ , Aiko giggled. _He has no idea what he’s in for._

Artanis ignored her brother almost as thoroughly as the staring ner, regarding the girl instead. She seemed sensible. They might perhaps be able to cut through some of the trouble, regardless of foolish older brothers…

She stepped forward, discounting warnings from both Ango and Aiko.

“Artanis,” she said to the younger woman, pointing at herself.

Then she waited expectantly, confident the girl would be clever enough to understand.

“Merilin,” the girl replied, mirroring the gesture.

“Well met,” Artanis replied politely, eschewing any more formal and wordy pleasantries.

From what she recalled of her uncle’s lectures on the evolution of language, the simpler she kept it, the better. The simpler words were usually the older ones, and the more basic the word, the less likely to radically alter to the point of being unrecognizable. That was why her mother called _her_ mother Emmë while Atto called _his_ Ammë.

This would be so much easier if they could use osanwë, but she needed a way to convey that, to explain what she wanted and reach agreement.

She thought rapidly, then pulled off one glove. Though it wasn’t entirely pleasant, the Ice had been far colder, and her fingers would hardly be at risk from a few minutes in this.

“May I?” she asked, making sure to make the interrogative note clear as she extended her hand.

 _Artanis, this is not appropriate!_ Aiko hissed.

 _What’s not appropriate about one nis speaking to another?_ she snorted. _Even the strictest Vanya etiquette maven couldn’t find fault under the circumstances. We don’t have time for Angarato and whoever he may be to play silly games all afternoon trying to puzzle out each other’s words!_

Merilin grasped her hand with an uncovered hand of her own, and osanwë was now possible and permissible.

 _I am Artanis Eärweniel,_ she began, filling in wordlessly the details the girl might lack, such as that Eärwen her mother was the daughter of Olwë, making her and her brothers not only fellow Lindar, but kin to Elwë. She introduced her brothers, both the ones here and the one in Mithrim, and explained their guard as well.

Then she waited.

As she’d hoped, that had been much clearer than any speech could have made matters. And in return, she learned that Merilin Gilorneliel was the granddaughter of Olwë’s younger brother Elmo, thus also a grandniece of Elwë who now called himself Elu Thingol. Her older brother Oropher spoke with Angarato, and the one who had stared so brazenly was Celeborn Galadhonion, likewise a grandson of Elmo.

Artanis was pleased to discover that the clever girl was her cousin, but something in her rebelled at classing Celeborn as ‘kinsman’ in all but the vague sense of being a fellow Linda.

Artanis was drawn from her musing on that subject by Merilin’s sense of urgency that they not linger where they presently found themselves. The weather, and the certainty that it would worsen before it broke, was foremost in her thoughts. They were not yet in close enough rapport for all to be conveyed in words, but it was easy enough to catch the idea from her mind.

The two parties had chanced on each other in a particularly exposed stretch of the route from Mithrim, with nothing to shield them from the full fury of the storm descending from the north. The snow already reached halfway to her knees, and as thick and fast as it was falling, more would swiftly accumulate.

There was better shelter, one which the Iathrim preferred to remaining here among the trees, in a south-facing dell not far away. In good weather, it would be perhaps half an hour on foot, but under the circumstances, it would be easily twice that, as they would have to go carefully, watching for shifting snow and falling branches – and, of course, for orcs or wolves.

The longer they delayed, the more dangerous their situation became.

Artanis nodded.

 _I will tell my brother_ , she assured Merilin. _Tell yours that we understand and will follow where you lead._

Aiko had at least partially followed what was passing between her and Merilin and was already instructing the guards.

Artanis commanded Ango’s attention by grabbing his arm, leaving him no choice but to turn to face her.

“Merilin has told me that they have been in haste to find us,” she said before he could voice the reprimand she could feel at the top of his mind. “Her people expect the snow to worsen, and last for some hours. This is not a good place to be, and we are too far from the border to reach it safely in such weather. They will lead us to a more sheltered place to wait it out. All else can keep!”

Ango bit back whatever else he might have said, looking instead toward Oropher and Celeborn.

Artanis was loathe to extend her mind toward Celeborn, but she would not learn the Lindarin of Beleriand any faster by ignoring him, so she reluctantly listened for the meaning as he spoke to the Iathrim guard.

She was relieved that it was Angarato and not her who would be expected to walk with him.

Oropher engaged Artaresto in the closest thing possible to polite conversation as they began to move out, though Artanis wasn’t quite sure what the gesture he used was intended to signify. Resto was old enough to be allowed to think it through for himself, she decided, turning her attention back to Merilin.

 _As we are kin_ , she began, _perhaps I should explain the family of the one you call Olu? I do not believe all his children had been begotten yet when he departed these shores._

As they walked, she related all she thought relevant of her mother’s family.

She was grateful for the younger girl’s familiarity with this terrain, for more than once Merilin prevented her from stumbling or being deceived by a treacherous bit of snow with nothing more solid beneath it that would have shifted under the weight of an elf.

As Merilin in turn explained the family she knew in Beleriand, Artanis began to feel slightly sick. The only elves to die in Aman had been her grandfather and his first wife, and that pair of deaths had led to the rebellion of the Noldor. Here, death was _everywhere_.

Merilin’s father was dead, as were her grandparents.  Not only that, her mother and grandmother had not simply died, but been taken captive by the Enemy, as had an aunt and uncle. The way she said _taken_ seemed to imply a worse fate which Merilin did not wish to discuss – as did her odd relief at the certainty that her grandmother was dead.

Merilin was happier to speak of living kin – her brothers Oropher and Celeborn, who seemed to Artanis not to be Merilin’s older brother but her cousin, along with Nimloth, Luthien, Belthil and Eöl. With the roll of the dead and missing so long, the living clung all the tighter to each other, and watched over Merilin, the self-described ‘baby’ fiercely.

Artanis suppressed a grin at the thought that Artaresto could not be more than a few cycles of the new sun older than Merilin, and so equally a ‘baby’. He would not be happy to hear where he ranked in the newly expanded family tree!

She herself could well understand Merilin’s frustration at so much overprotectiveness surrounding her – none better, for she and Irissë were the youngest of their generation and had more brothers and cousins to raise a fuss. But with both of them having reached an age to marry some years ago and their older brothers begetting children, they could no longer be termed ‘babies’ with any accuracy.

Though she did not much like Merilin’s confident expectation that she would find herself kept in Doriath until her as yet unmet great-uncle Elwë was satisfied that she could conduct herself safely beyond his protected borders, she did like one thing about her sundered kin: baby or not, Merilin had been sent with the party to meet them. She had a bodyguard, it was true, but she was _there_.

To Artanis’ mind, that betokened the women of the Lindar in Beleriand being thought of greater importance than the Noldor considered them. She is prepared to put up with a little more overprotectiveness if it means she will be taken seriously as more than an ornament or a potential bride.


	4. Shelter From The Storm

Artanis thoroughly regretted giving in to Merilin’s plea that she change places with Artaresto when they reached the grottoes.

She hadn’t understood from Merilin’s explanation that it was not one or two large, connected caverns, but a series of unconnected caves prepared to shelter small parties caught out in bad weather. They would not all be housed in one place, but rather in twos or threes, as none of the caves would comfortably hold more.

Their own escort had gone off with the Iathrim guards, splitting into smaller groups or pairs as they did. She had seen Aiko squeezing into one of the caves that would take three with one such pair, animatedly trading vocabulary as they did.

The captain of their escort, Airesaron, had courteously offered to share with Areseth, who appeared loathe to let young Merilin out of her sight.

Artanis had to stifle a smile – she recognized a guard when she saw one, even if that was one indignity she’d rarely been saddled with. She could usually be sure of having at least one cousin or brother to hand if her elders felt she needed someone watching over her. She was somewhat surprised that Merilin hadn’t seemed to mind such a precaution.

Merilin and Artaresto were tucked into another cave, and Angarato for a wonder had been so deep in conversation with Oropher that he failed to notice, much less see that the party had split up in such a way as to leave his little sister in a highly inappropriate situation with Celeborn.

Artanis actually minded the _inappropriate_ less than the _Celeborn_.

She was about to be stuck overnight at the very least with a ner she had absolutely no wish to converse with. She’d have happily traded him for Oropher had she seen any graceful way to accomplish it before it was too late. But Ango and Oropher had vanished into one of the smaller caves, and she had been stuck following Celeborn into the last of them.

Drat her big brothers for failing to be ridiculously overprotective the one time in her life she had actually wanted them to be!

She ruefully realized that she had underestimated how devious her young kinswoman had been – though she didn’t blame Merilin, who hadn’t noticed her disinterest. Artanis didn’t doubt that if she’d been the least bit curious about the older prince of Doriath, she’d have jumped at the chance to get to know him without her brothers hovering over her insisting she behave according to the etiquette of Tirion.

 Unfortunately, she _wasn’t_ interested, which left her the problem of making polite conversation until she could decently feign tiredness and sleep – and hope that under the circumstances, her sleep wouldn’t be troubled with memories of the Helcaraxë as it all too often was. If Celeborn were half as skilled at osanwë as she suspected, that would reveal a good deal more than she cared to have him know.

They’d been walking arm in arm for the past half hour without saying so much as a word to each other, aloud or otherwise, but that could probably be excused by the combination of the language barrier and the need to focus on picking their way safely through the snowy terrain. She didn’t imagine the lack of conversation wouldn’t be noticeable now that it was just the pair of them in a small space.

She looked around at what was to be their shelter for the duration of the storm.

The cave had a high ceiling, but it wasn’t particularly wide, though it did fan out further from the entrance. A miniature waterfall trickled down one wall, turning into a small stream that made its way to the rear of the cave before vanishing. The grotto was sheltered enough that the sudden cold snap outside had not been enough to freeze it.

Artanis watched curiously as Celeborn made whatever preparations he considered necessary to ready their cave for occupancy.

He busied himself at the entrance, using a set of wooden screens to partially block the entrance – placing them to create a barrier against snow and keep out the wind, but not completely seal the grotto or cut off fresh air. Then he moved to make a fire further back, in a niche apparently constructed for the purpose.

Only then did he turn to her. His hand was ungloved now, and while he said nothing, the expectation was clear – osanwë was the only way they could reasonably communicate. The attempts she’d heard from her brother and her nephew had made it clear that Iathrim Lindarin and Alqualondëan Lindarin had diverged sufficiently that the Academy would probably consider them separate languages now.

Artanis sighed and removed her own gloves. It wasn’t nearly as cold in the cave as it had been outside in the wind. And it wasn’t as if they’d have to keep holding hands beyond the initial contact.

She extended a hand, and made certain that she did not flinch – or clasp his hand too tightly, trying to chase the unexpected sense of nebulous foresight that sparked at the touch.

 _We will definitely be here for the night, and very likely part of tomorrow as well_ , Celeborn told her courteously. _As your clothes are wet from the snow, I suggest you change. It will be easier to keep warm in dry things._

She saw the sense in that – and ruthlessly suppressed the memories of wet clothes and cold that threatened to crowd into the thoughts she shared with him – but she was unsure of how he expected her to undress with him present.

There was a fleeting feeling of surprise from Celeborn, followed by a slightly awkward offer to turn his back as he released her hand.

She felt almost as though _she_ were the one being inappropriate – truly, not just by the ridiculous standards of Tirion – as she accepted, and hastily scrambled herself into the first things that came to hand at the top of her pack, with no regard for whether they matched or their intended purpose.

She blushed slightly when she realized she’d pulled out a robe her grandmother had made for her to wear when she had last wintered in Alqualondë, some years back. It at least had the virtue of being less vividly colored than most of her clothes, but the lack of sleeves and bold neckline meant she would not have worn it in public.

She’d thought when she packed it at Mithrim that she might wear it in her own room in the evenings, before retiring. It was comfortable, and reminded her of home. She dug frantically through the bag until she found the wrap that went with it, thankful it would cover her shoulders and neck.

 _That soft blue brings out your eyes, my darling_ , Suyelirë had told her with a smile that hurt to remember now.

She hurriedly dashed the tears away – she will not let outsiders see her cry, not now, not ever – and cleared her throat to announce that she was once again decent, even while she was still securing the wrap at her waist.

Celeborn looked faintly amused, whether by what she was now wearing or over her insistence that he turn while she changed. He had removed the outer layers of his own clothing, which were also wet. The layers beneath were still dry, she noted. She wondered if that was by design, or a happy accident.

He gestured at her to hang her wet things along a railing near the wall as he was doing with his.

 _If you have any blankets in your bag, bring them out_ , he advised. _It would be best to keep to the heated area and stay covered as much as possible._

Artanis looked toward where he had lit the fire. What she had taken as a niche was in fact part of a small raised platform, with a low back that was not part of the cave wall as she had first thought.

 _It is heated?_ she asked curiously.

Celeborn beckoned her closer. It would be rude – and awkward – to refuse. Not to mention, it would definitely ensure she didn’t get an answer.

_The chamber where the wood burns is designed to require as little fuel as possible. The fire will burn without smoke or soot. The warmth is channeled through the platform so that anyone who shelters here does not lose body heat to cold stone. So long as we stay covered and do not move around unnecessarily, we could stay quite comfortably for a week or more if need be._

She was unable to contain her surprise.

_A week?_

Celeborn smiled.

 _I doubt it will be that long,_ he told her. _This storm…it is not natural. Such storms do not last as long as true storms would._

 _Do such things happen often?_ she asked.

 _Often enough to be prepared_ , he shrugged. _We are safe enough here. It may be beyond the Girdle, but it is_ not _beyond Queen Melian’s protection entirely._

She nodded, understanding that was why their welcoming committee had been so intent on reaching this place as much as shelter from the weather. She glanced around the cave with a more careful eye, and saw that the heated area also featured a flat metal plate and a basin.

_For heating food and water?_

Celeborn nodded.

_The stream water is wholesome and clean, but even in summer it is cold – to drink it in winter without heating it first would undo much if not all of the benefit of the fire._

_You think of everything,_ she said, impressed despite herself.

Curvo would be fascinated, not that he was likely to have the chance to see it anytime soon. She’ll have to write to him.

Celeborn shrugged.

_The credit is not mine. We have learned from experience. You are not the first group of travelers to be caught by the weather, though this is unusually late for snow. Before we go beyond the borders, we are trained for such contingencies._

Artanis turned back to her bag and brought out the blanket she’d packed. It might be fine wool better suited to evening breezes in Alqualondë than winter in Beleriand, but it was warm all the same. She found Celeborn also had a blanket.

 _We should share_ , he said, before she could suggest they each keep to their own. _It would be warmer for both of us that way._ _If you do not mind, of course_.

There was no good way to refuse, especially not when she knew perfectly well after the Ice that what he was saying was only sensible.

She joined him on the platform, surprised even after his explanation to find that the whole thing was pleasantly warm from such a small fire. She did her best to ignore that Celeborn was also pleasantly warm as he layered the blankets over them, with his heavier blanket atop hers, and pulled her snug – but not too snug – against him.

And now there was the conversation problem again…

 _Is this very different to the West_? _Aside, of course, from the Enemy?_

She nearly laughed at the artless question, and her answer was more honest than it might have otherwise been.

 _In the West, the two of us alone like this would be a scandal,_ she snorted.

 _Oh?_ Celeborn sounded more amused than anything else. _Even if we do not share warmth?_

Were they speaking out loud, she would have needed to ask, but with osanwë she picked the meaning behind the euphemism straight from his mind.

 _Sharing warmth would be even more scandalous_ , she said, trying not to laugh at either his apparent assumption that she would want to do such a thing with him or the thought of her aunts’ and grandmother’s reactions. (She resolutely did _not_ think on what Irissë would say if she knew, which would doubtless be some variation on ‘why under the stars _wouldn’t_ you?’)

 _I suppose it’s a bit late to warn Merilin now_ , Celeborn said ruefully. _She’ll likely discover it for herself soon enough if she hasn’t already. I am quite certain that’s why she maneuvered herself and your nephew together._

Artanis tried not to splutter. She did her best not to betray that she didn’t believe Merilin’s maneuvering had been entirely self-interested.

 _Good luck to her,_ she finally managed. _She’s likely to startle poor Artaresto out of his skin._

 _At his age?_ Celeborn asked in surprise.

She gleaned from his astonishment the detail that at only just past his majority, he would have eagerly welcomed such an opportunity with a nis his own age unlikely to be more interested in his great-uncle’s favor than him – and who moreover would be unlikely to comment on his performance.

Against her will, she found herself softening toward Celeborn just a little.

She knew perfectly well what it was to question how much of anyone’s interest was really for _you_ and how much was for your proximity to your grandfather the king. (The other part, of course, she had no comparison for. In truth, she hadn’t ever thought about it enough to realize that one might be judged, be it favorably or unfavorably, at such activities. She is going to have quite the conversation with Irissë when she gets back to Mithrim – though she will have to first make clear that she does _not_ want to hear any details about Turkafinwë. Ever.)

 _Do you imagine it would be any less scandalous for him than for me?_ she asked.

There was a pause, with the flavor of a ner choosing his words carefully.

 _Your people do not appear to hold women in the same regard as men,_ he offered tentatively.

She saw what he was getting at, and was not sure whether to be more annoyed with Merilin for being so on target in her scheming, Celeborn for being the opposite of what she’d expected at first sight, or herself for being annoyed in the first place.

 _It would be somewhat more scandalous for a princess than for a prince_ , she admitted. _But there are plenty among our people who would still find it troubling to know my nephew would behave so. Though they may be fewer here than they would have been on the other side of the Sea._

A good number of those who were rigid about such things had turned back; others hadn’t survived the Ice. Crossing the Ice had required a certain amount of flexibility about the normal rules of behavior between neri and nissi. Huddling together for warmth was not the same as Celeborn’s _sharing warmth_ , and any who had refused to do so for propriety’s sake had lessened their chances of survival.

 _Will your position among your people be compromised if your spending time alone with me becomes known?_ Celeborn asked.

She paused.

She honestly wasn’t sure.

Before the Ice it certainly would have been. After the Ice, she couldn’t say for certain – there would likely be multiple opinions on the matter. Really, the problem was going to be what people would assume once the Sindarin attitude toward ‘sharing warmth’ became known. (And it would, sooner or later.)

 _If it is, there is little to be done about it now,_ she said dismissively.

Her brothers would believe her even if no one else did, and though her uncle might be somewhat disappointed to find her in the middle of such a mess, he was too practical not to understand.

_I am already here._

If Celeborn thought otherwise, he chose not to share.

 _And I am not about to freeze for the sake of public opinion. If they assume we_ shared warmth _as you call it, let any who dares say so to my face._

**Author's Note:**

> As some are aware, I've been thinking a fair bit about Angrod lately, and the children of Finarfin and Doriath. So it's quite likely this will turn out to be the first of a new series about Aegnor, Angrod, Orodreth, and Galadriel in Doriath...


End file.
